Moving On, Growing Up
by CierraLuv97
Summary: Life after Neverland is hard, especially for Peter and Wendy. Both praying that they will not be forgotten, they try to move on with their lives, but the line between moving on and growing up is thin. Very thin. Now complete.
1. Thirteen For Wendy

**_*Author's Note* Hi, everyone who's reading this. It's Cierra. Most people who will read this probably haven't read any of my work before, because most of it is Scooby Doo stuff. I recently got into Peter Pan when me and my friend watched the 2003 movie with Jeremy Sumpter and Rachel Hurd-Wood (who I actually might possibly meet - but that has nothing to do with Peter Pan). I've gotten than movie four times onDemand. I can't stop watching it, and that's mainly because of the romance between Peter and Wendy. It's so innocent, and I love how neither of them really understand it until it becomes critical to their survival (when you kiss a boy and he does what Peter did, you know you are a very good kisser). I especially love the part when Peter and Wendy are just starting to dance, and Peter's like, "Um... where do I put my hand now?" Sooo much like people at my school (which isn't high school, in case you are concerned)._**

**_Anyway, this is sort of my sequel to that movie. No, Wendy doesn't go back to Neverland to save it and Captain Hook doesn't come in at all. It's sort of like how they're growing up and moving on, but every so often they think back to each other, and how it affects other people in their lives. I hope you like - I feel really good about this (and I mean it this time!)_**

**_And also, for those people who do reguraly read my stuff, ARE YOU STILL THERE? I wrote this story I'm really proud of about Red Herring (scooby Doo stuff) and it hasn't gotten a single review, and it's been more than a month! Is it not on the list of stories? It's called It's Not Red, in case you're wondering. Please someone tell me what the quack is going on? _**

**_Okay, sorry about my huge rant. Onto the story!_**

Thirteen

Had Peter forgotten her yet?

It was Wendy's thirteenth birthday. Six months since she had last seen Peter. Wendy did not know if Peter's memory stretched that far. He had forgotten John and Michael quite quickly.

Of course, Wendy preferred to think of herself in a different category than John and Michael, when they were talking about Peter, that is. She liked to think that she was closer to Peter than the boys were. She had given him her hidden kiss. She had saved him, as she said one day rather smugly to Nana; later, however, she realized that if she hadn't ever been there, he wouldn't have been on the ground, hopeless and broken. She actually wasn't completely sure of why he had needed saving in the first place, but she knew it had to do with her, and that was enough.

Wendy, who was lying in her bed, fingered Peter's kiss. Her parents actually didn't know it _was _a kiss, but they knew it was quite important to her. She had gotten a silver chain for her birthday to wear it on, but she had decided not to use it. It was not going to change, ever.

Her parents and Aunt Millicent were downstairs, and every so often one of them laughed. This was the sound that Wendy had missed in Neverland. She often wished that she could bring the two places together. That would be perfect. Simply perfect.

_Had_ Peter forgotten her yet? Wendy turned over and stared at the window. She wondered if he would come back, and if it would be tonight. Speaking logically, Peter had no reason to come back tonight, seeing as he had no idea it was Wendy's birthday, but Wendy felt like if he were to come back any night, it would be tonight.

The window was shut, as it was always. Her mother was terrified that the children would leave again, and she made sure to lock the window each night with a special key that she kept in her room.

But tonight… Wendy realized suddenly that she didn't remember her mother locking it. Was it possible… quietly, Wendy stole across the floor to the window, and, ever so gently, tugged on it. It opened without a problem.

She closed her eyes and breathed in the air. Yes, he hadn't forgotten her, she was sure of it. As long as the window was open. Content, she stumbled back into bed, and closed her eyes.

What Wendy didn't know was that her mother crept into the room later that night and shut the window. And locked it. And in the morning, Wendy didn't notice.


	2. Thirteen For Peter

Thirteen

Had Wendy forgotten him yet?

It was a question Peter often asked himself. Sometimes he asked Tink, and she always replied that no, she supposed he hadn't. And that was enough until the next time he saw something that reminded him of Wendy, and then he asked again.

Neverland was different now, and Peter was lonely, and he wasn't quite sure why. There would be another Lost Boy soon enough - boys are quite stupid, especially when they are children. And there would be more pirates to fight eventually, since, as Tink pointed out, they couldn't be sure that some of the pirates he blew overboard didn't swim to shore.

It was mostly Wendy. She was different. It wasn't just because she was a girl, or that she told stories. Peter didn't know what it was, but he knew he wanted it back.

Was it love? He had no idea of knowing. Peter had never seen love in his life, or read about it, or heard about it. He only knew that it was awfully important, and that people who had love wanted to get married. He didn't want to get married to Wendy, or to anyone, actually, so he supposed it wasn't love. It was something, though. And it was important.

Now, Peter was sitting on one of the branches on the pixie tree. The fairies were having a party, and Peter was entertaining himself by watching. He had to watch hard, because if his mind was still, thoughts would creep in, thoughts about Wendy and the Lost Boys. Everything.

Sometimes, when Peter tried to sleep, he would think back to Captain Hook, and his words. Peter hadn't known words could be so powerful until Wendy came along. And then Hook had used them, and had sent Peter crashing to the ground. Peter remembered how he felt; sick and scared and… and broken all at the same time. And then Wendy had given him her thimble. It was an even better thimble than his own mother probably had. It sure was a powerful thing. It had saved them all… and now it and Wendy were gone. Because of grown-ups.

Peter growled, and shook the branch in frustration. "I hate grown-ups!" He yelled. The fairies froze, and then they were gone. He had never scared off the fairies before. It was Wendy's fault. She left. And _that _was grown-up's fault.

Peter began to breathe fast, purposeful breaths. There is a saying on Neverland that every time you breathe, a grown-up dies, and Peter hoped he killed every single grown-up in the whole world.

What he didn't know that grown-ups killed enough of each other by themselves. They didn't need help.


	3. Fourteen For Wendy

Fourteen

It was her fourteenth birthday.

This one was different, though - the family had moved a few months ago to a large home in the outskirts of London, to make room for the Lost Boys. It was a nice home. Comfortably large without being too large. There was just one problem.

The first night they found out, Wendy was in the nursery reading a story when Michael tugged on her sleeve. "If we move, how will Peter ever find us again?"

Wendy hesitated. She'd been thinking the exact same thing all day. How would Peter find them? There was no way to let him know their new address - she'd already tried and the post office didn't accept Neverland as a valid address, so she couldn't send him a letter. Unless -

Wendy's breath caught in excitement. "I'll leave a letter for him!" She cried. "And it will have our new address in it. And directions to get to our new home, just in case he doesn't know what to do with the address."

The boys all agreed it was a perfectly genius idea. The day before they moved, Wendy sat down on the mattress in her room (her bed and all of her other possessions had been shipped to the house earlier that week), poised a pen over a piece of paper and -

And nothing. Wendy was stuck. What was she supposed to say? This wasn't just another pen pal - this was _Peter_. She needed her words to work for once, and not to come out all twisted. She glanced around her tiny room, and sighed. Her room, as in, not the nursery. She smiled to herself, as she thought of days spent sword-fighting with John and Michael. And, nights spent stealing away in the night with a mysterious boy who couldn't have been more innocent.

And then Wendy began the letter. It went like this;

_Dear Peter,_

_If you get this letter, that means you have visited the nursery, and have observed that John, Michael, the Lost Boys and I are no longer there. Another little girl might be sleeping exactly where I used to sleep, and there might be another dog who is he nurse. Perhaps you'll mistake that little girl for me and take her to Neverland. If that happens, I am sure you will have plenty of adventures._

_We have not grown-up, if that's what you think. The home was much too small for all of us, so we are moving to a larger house on the outskirts of London. It has a large nursery, for the boys, and I shall get a larger room. Yes, I have my own room now. Do not be alarmed. I am still a little girl. I honestly think I might be one forever, even when the rest of me is old and crinkled. When I am five-hundred and seven years old, I will still be a little girl. I promise._

_Our new address is three-hundred sixty-two Admiral Street. If you do not know how to read a map to get there, then follow these instructions: fly to the park nearest to my house (it's still quite far away from my house, but it is the closest. It has two huge rocks in the middle, which is how you will notice it). Once there, follow the river upriver until you reach a bridge. Go left, and turn down the first street on your right. My new house is the one with the twin trees in the yard. My window is on the second story, farthest to the left. I do so hope these directions help. I am mostly certain they are accurate._

_Do not worry if you cannot find it at first try. Father says I am not good at directions, so it may take you some time. It's just another adventure. Please tell Tinker Bell I say hello, and that she was the loveliest girl I ever saw, and that I am very sorry she was temporarily banished because of me. Please give my regards to the Indians. And if you ever see any of Captain Hook's crew, tell them - oh, I don't know, something horrible. But not too horrible._

_I know you promised that you wouldn't forget about me, but I don't think I ever did the same. I swear, Peter, on my life, that I shan't forget about you. Even if I tried, it would be impossible. _

_Sincerely,_

_Wendy M. A. Darling_

The next day, Wendy folded the letter and placed it into an envelope, on which she wrote _To Mr. Peter Pan. _For precaution, she scrawled underneath _If someone else is to find this, please LEAVE THE LETTER WHERE YOU FOUND IT. It's important. _She then closed the nursery window on it, so Peter would find it.

No one else found the letter, and that was why Peter didn't. The woman who bought the house (who, coincidentally enough, had daughter who had just turned twelve) opened the window of the nursery on a windy day, before she could notice the letter, and it was sucked into the open air. It rode the winds.

It wouldn't have mattered, anyway. They had forgotten that Peter couldn't read.


	4. Fourteen For Peter

Fourteen

The window was shut. And locked.

Peter glanced at Tinker Bell in fear and shock. He tucked on the window another time. Nothing.

Tink fluttered her wings a little faster in anxiety. She knew this was a bad idea.

A few days ago, in their underground den in Neverland, Peter had abruptly said, "We're going to go visit Wendy."

"What?" Tink had cried in fairy language.

"C'mon, Tink, at least to say hi." Peter pleaded, knowing it would probably be longer than a hi.

"That's a bad idea, Peter."

"Why?"

Tink paused. Unlike Peter, she wasn't an innocent child who knew nothing about anything other than make-believe. She had lived on the mainland longer than he ever would. "It just is. We're not going."

"You're just scared."

"I am not! I just don't want to go visit Wendy, that's all. I never liked her."

"We have to! What if she's forgotten me?" Peter was serious now, his eyes desperate.

"She promised she wouldn't."

"No, _I_ promised _I_ wouldn't forget about _her_. _She_ never promised anything, except to leave Hook to me, which she did, mostly."

"No!"

"Tink!"

And that was how the conversation went. When Peter declared that he would go alone, Tink had taken a minute to consider this. Despite popular belief, Tinker Bell was smart, and caring. And one thing she was especially smart and caring about was Peter. She knew more about him than he did. She knew if he saw the full extent of the world, with all the pain, it would stun him. She knew that Peter was in love with Wendy, no matter how innocent and childish it was. She knew that he didn't know it. And she knew he would not be satisfied until he was certain she felt the same way, although he wouldn't know he was certain because he didn't know he loved her.

So, Tink had agreed to go, and now they were floating by the window, and it was locked. Peter's first taste of the ways of the world, and Tink was hating it.

Peter tugged again at the window, tears blurring his vision. She left! She left and probably met another wonderful boy, only this one probably is invisible or something, and now she's going to grow up, and never sword fight or fly or think about him again and -

"Peter!" Tink hissed suddenly. "I know what happened! They moved!"

Peter's head jerked towards her. She motioned to the window. Peter pressed his face to the window, and realized that Tink must be right. There were _three_ girls, two younger than Wendy, and they didn't even look like her. He breathed a sigh of relief.

"But to where?" Peter whispered, backing up from the window.

"We'll find them," Tink said without knowing she was going to. "It'll be an adventure."

Peter's eyes lit up. "Finally! We'll find her and get her to come back to Neverland with us! And, better yet, how clever she'll think I am when we find her! Let's go look for her - c'mon!" That last bit was added when Tink wasn't quite fast enough.

You see, Tink knew she shouldn't have said that. Neverland time works differently that regular time. It had been a year on Neverland since Peter had last seen Wendy, but in grown-up time it could have been years and years. Wendy could be dead.

Or even grown-up.


	5. Fifteen For Wendy

Fifteen

It was Wendy's fifteenth birthday. Well, the end of it, really. And what a end it was.

"What?" She breathed staring at her brothers and the Lost Boys.

"Wendy, let's be logical," John said seriously. At thirteen years old, he still wore his favorite glasses and loved his favorite top-hat. He was still the serious, smart one. Right now, he was too serious, too smart.

"Are we really going to keep continuing to believe that we were swept out of our room by a flying boy and a fairy who fought pirates in their spare time on a magical island called _Neverland_?" John continued, glancing around at the other boys. They all nodded.

"It is quite ridiculous," agreed thirteen year old Tootles -or should she say, Carlisle. Mr. Darling had finally grown sick of being taunted at the bank for having such absurdly named children, and had renamed them all. Wendy thought that the new names were much more absurd than the old ones. But she had said nothing.

"Absolutely," said Richard/Curly, who was now twelve, just like Robert/Nibs.

"But -" Wendy struggled to understand. They could not lose faith. What would it do to Peter? "But, if Neverland never existed, then where did we find the Lost Boys?"

"My theory," Winston/Slightly said, "is that we simply were make-believing so hard it seemed true. We all lived in the wilderness, and we had to face off against cruel adults. Peter was just this boy who knew the ways of the streets. To us he was so wonderful he seemed like he _could_ fly. Same thing for you three." He nodded as seriously as a fourteen-year-old boy can.

"You can't just _make up _something like that," Wendy insisted, her eyes tearing up. "People can have imagination, but you can't pretend the feeling and the scares like that."

"Maybe we were defusional from lack of food," Alan/Twin One suggested.

"Defusional?" Michael asked, now ten years old.

"You know, sick and seeing stuff that isn't real," Felix/Twin Two explained very proudly, sounding as if he was quite older and wiser than Michael rather than only eleven.

"You mean delusional," John corrected.

"Yes, that's what I said."

"We can't all have the same delusion," Wendy pointed out.

Slightly placed a hand on Wendy's arm. "I am sorry, Wendy. We know you liked Peter." At any other time, Wendy would have blushed, but instead she quietly excused herself and crept to her room, where she opened her window and sat down besides. Although she tried not to cry whenever possible, a few tears were blinked onto the pillow next to her. Wendy rubbed at her eyes roughly.

The boys can believe what they want, she thought stubbornly. I know Peter was really real. He was not just a boy. If he was just a boy, would she have run desperately through the snowy park just because she thought she heard him? No.

It was earlier today, and she was out walking with her three good friends, Charity Williams, Edith Jones and Edward Swanson, in the park (the very park she'd mentioned in her directions to Peter, which must have been difficult to understand, because she never saw him). Snow had been falling peacefully. Until an earsplitting yell of anger and grief tore through the trees.

"What was that?" Charity whispered. Wendy froze. She was sucked suddenly back into memories. Neverland memories.

_The pirates are roaring with excitement as they pull the plank toward the side of the ship. The boys, who are in a heap, are screaming and yelling. I am tied to the mast. I do not want to look, but Captain Hook pushes my face towards the plank. I hate him._

____

"There's still room for a storyteller," he says, brushing my hair away from my face with his hook. It makes me want to curl up inside myself and never come out. I hate him.

'I'd rather die," I say fiercely. I don't flinch.

"Shame," he says phonily. I hate him.

"Cap'n, Cap'n!" Mr. Smee calls from the side of the boat. Hook rushes over to him. "Look at the sky!" I look up. Lightning flashes across the dark sky. "And look at the water." The black waves whip each other angrily. And then something on the island shrieks. Something that sounds horrifyingly close to Peter. "Pan… must be dead!"

"No! No! Impossible!" Cries of shock arise from the Lost Boys and my brothers. My breath comes quicker and quicker. I shake my head weakly. No. It can't be.

"Ship's company!" roars Hook. "Hats off! A moment's silence for our fallen enemy." They all take their hats off, in mock grief. I swallow, unable to stop shaking, and close my eyes. "We sail at dawn!" The hats are flying through the air. I ignore it. They will not see me cry. Ever.

Wendy started running.

She ignored her friends yelling out to her and the wind whipping her face. She only cared about finding the sound. Half of her - the selfish part of her - was praying with every inch it had that it was Peter. The other half was praying it hadn't been him.

The thing screamed again, and Wendy's speed accelerated. It sounded like it was coming from by the river. Her hair streamed out behind her. Almost there -

It was nothing. All that was there was a couple of shards of wood and some scuff marks in the snow. It could have been anything. A branch could have fallen off a tree, and then rolled away, or the shards could be remains of a mock sword fight between little boys. Her heart plummeted.

"Wait!" Edward caught up to her first. He was breathing heavily. "Are you quite all right?"

Wendy nodded slowly. She didn't have words to speak. After a moment, she whispered, "I'm okay."

As she left, she thought she heard a familiar murmur, but she was probably imagining it.


	6. Fifteen For Peter

This was how the tragedy happened.

Tinker Bell and Peter had been stuck in England since that night when they decided to find Wendy, which proved easier said than done. Much easier.

At first, it had been enjoyable. It was fun looking into all the windows and scaring the wits out of mean old grown-ups (any time it was a grown-up, Peter made an extra scary face, to punish them for the Wendy-thing) and sometimes he talked to the children. Mostly they were all boys, except for one girl just Peter's size named Julie. At first, Peter had worried that by talking to Julie, he was forgetting about Wendy, which might make _her_ forget about _him_, but Julie hadn't really wanted to talk to him at all, so it was okay.

It was enjoyable for Peter, anyway. He noticed that Tinker Bell was uneasy, and grumbled a lot, but whenever he asked her she just got snappy. So he ignored it.

But, after a few days, it wasn't fun. It was cold in England - awfully cold. And there was hardly anything to eat. And there were much too many grown-ups. He hadn't killed as many with his breathing as he would have liked.

Two weeks after arriving in England, Peter and Tink landed for rest in an alley behind what Peter would later discover is a school. Tink happened to glance at Peter, and was horrified by what she saw. He was bone thin, shuddering from the cold, and his eyes were drooping shut. Why hadn't she noticed? Wendy wasn't a priority anymore. They needed to get home.

"Peter, that's it. It's too dangerous. Let's go back." Tink tugged on Peter's hair.

He opened his eyes. "N-n-n-n-oo! We h-h-have to f-f-find Wendy! She c-c-could have f-f-f-f-forgotten me! And P-peter P-p-pan never g-g-gives up!"

Instead of arguing, like Tink could have, she swallowed and told him to wait. She came back with proper warm clothes, which she'd stolen from a local shop (with a little pixie dust to help).

"I'm n-n-not w-wearing grown-up clothes, T-t-tink!" Peter whined.

"Fine, freeze to death," Tinker Bell retorted. "It's easy to forget a boy who froze to death." Tink knew that was mean, but it was be mean or let Peter kill himself with his stubbornness.

Peter put on the clothes.

The food problem was solved after several failed attempts to steal food. They would wait until a cart owner, selling meat-pies (which Peter discovered to be very delicious) and walnuts and such things, went on his dinner break. Most of the cart owners sat with the carts outside and ate, so Tinker Bell, since she was so small, would sneak onto the cart and grab the food.

And so began their life of crime.

The tragedy was on a day like any other. Tinker Bell and Peter were looking in windows (normally, they liked to do it at night, but Peter was getting more and more desperate to find Wendy, and didn't really care when he found her anymore). As usual, the window they were currently looking in wasn't Wendy's, but it did have a grown-up napping inside. Peter was making good use of the open window by throwing mud at the grown-up. One hit the bald man right on his shiny head, but he didn't even wake up. Instead of feeling pleased, Peter just through a piece at him harder and slammed the window.

"Next house, Tink!" Peter called. Tink was off in the distance, studying something. "Tink?"

"Check without me," came the reply. "I'll be there in a moment!" Peter shrugged and flew to the next house, which had a plastic flamingo in the yard.

Tink studied the thing caught in the tree, her little heart pattering with promise. This might be it.

The thing was flat and rectangular, and bigger than Tink. It was white, and at the top had a triangle engraved in it that pointed towards the bottom of it. An envelope.

But the most interesting thing on it was a name. Tink, like Peter, was much too proud to learn how to read, but she did know what her name and Peter's name looked like. And this thing had Peter's name on it.

Tink fluttered forward, but before she could grab it, the wind picked up with vigor. Tink grabbed onto the tree to keep from being blown away, but the mysterious envelope wasn't so lucky. It was un-wedged from the tree and flown threw the air into the nearby park. Tink followed it, sure it was going to help them.

Peter finished checking the flamingo house and flew to where he'd heard Tinker Bell reply to him. No one was there, but he could make out a faint light in the park -

- one that was suddenly smothered by a falling piece of wood.

_Tinker Bell_.

"Tink!" Peter yelled, flying through the air faster than lightning itself. "Tinker Bell!"

Tink, under the wood, blinked and groaned, struggling to breathe. She was broken. Her leg throbbed, she was dizzy, her chest hurt, and there was piece of wood digging into her side. Really digging into, she realized, when she placed her pretty, delicate hand there and felt something warm and sticky. Blood.

Fairies rarely bleed. They are tiny, so they have very little blood. They can't afford to bleed. They only bleed when they feel they don't need it anymore.

Even though Tink had died once before, she knew this was really it.

"Tink!" The wood was thrown off of her, and there was Peter, his face blocking out the sun. "Oh, Tink!" His little hand (which really wasn't little anymore, now that Tinker Bell thought of it) gently scooped her up.

"Peter…" she tried to whisper, but it hurt too much. She just coughed, wishing the snow would stop coming near her.

"Don't die, Tink! You can't die! If you get better, we'll go back to Neverland, I swear! You're my best friend, Tink. Don't die on me." Peter was babbling, his green eyes blurry with tears. A small part of Tink noted that Peter's voice was lower than usual, and that part overtook the rest of it. Peter was growing up. Her Peter, growing up.

But Tinker Bell ignored that, just like she was ignoring the horrible ache throughout her body - including her heartache. There was a message she needed to deliver.

"There… was a…. envelope… for… you…" she moaned. Her eyelids started to flutter closed.

"Tink!" Peter cried, louder now. "Don't worry! I do believe in fairies! I do! I_ do_! I -"

"I'm bleeding…. No need…. Good-bye…" Then, just like that, Tinker Bell died.

"_Tink_!" His shout echoed through the quiet park. Peter stared at the little body in outrage. No. He was not going to just let her die. "I do believe in fairies! I do! I do! I do be -" Suddenly, he heard footsteps approaching. Peter stopped, mid-chant and wobbled high into the air, Tink still resting in his palm. The snow covered the splatters of Tinker Bell's blood on the snow quickly.

A girl burst through, into the clearing. Peter only saw the top of her head, but she was almost grown-up. She was sure acting grown-up, just looking around.

"Hey!" A voice said, and a boy (well, he was basically a man) entered the clearing. "Are you quite all right?"

The girl nodded slowly. "I'm okay." Peter froze mid-air. The voice was so familiar. Could it be - he started to fly forward, but his thumb jostled Tink - who was now deathly cold.

Tink! Fury ripped through his mind. Was it too late? He flew down the ground as the two people left, not even bothering see if it was really Wendy. He just began to work on saving Tinker Bell's life.

Peter muttered the words faithfully until past midnight. When he awoke, Tinker Bell was gone. In her place was a pile of pixie dust, perfectly arranged into a star.

Peter kicked it and watched it fly.


	7. Sixteen For Wendy

"Chocolate?"

Wendy smiled at Edward appreciatively. "Sure, thanks." He handed her a small, square piece of chocolate. When she bit into it, she discovered it was full of caramel. "Mmm. This is so good. Where'd you find this?"

"My uncle came over for a few days, and he brought this box of chocolate from France. My mum's been trying to get rid of it ever since. She hates chocolate."

"Why?"

"It reminds her of my dad."

"Ah." Wendy said nothing. Edward's father had run off with another woman when he was very young, and Wendy did not feel the need to pry into his memories. He certainly didn't pry into hers.

They were taking a walk through the park. It had become their Sunday tradition, after Wendy started going into the park again. The scream on her fifteenth birthday had spooked her terribly, and it had taken an awful lot of coaxing before she stepped inside the familar stone walls again.

She was sixteen now - it was actually her birthday right then - and a small part of her was starting to agree with her brothers. It was all quite unrealistic. Flying boys, pirates, mermaids - preposterous.

But the vast majority of Wendy still firmly believed in Neverland, and Peter Pan. This was the part that left her window open every night, who hesitated every time someone mentioned growing up, and who, when doubting it all, never thought about Tinker Bell, lest her thoughts of uncertain belief could affect the fairy as much as speaking of disbelief could.

"Happy birthday, by the way," Edward said, awakening Wendy from her thoughts. They'd stopped by street-lamp next to the river. The sun was just starting to deep towards the horizon, so for now, it was simply a pole of steel.

"Oh, thank you."

Edward was quiet, then he asked, "Was it?"

"Was what what?"

"Was your birthday happy?"

"Oh," Wendy said softly. No one had ever really asked her that question. "I suppose so. We went to church, and I had Mother's homemade cake, and I got some nice gifts. And everyone was happy."

"Supposing is not the same thing as knowing, Wendy," Edward said thoughtfully, his blue eyes questioning her.

And then he leaned in, and his lips met hers.

A kiss.

In every way it resembled the kiss from four years ago, but in every way it was different.

Because this kiss was just a kiss. It wasn't sacred, special. _Hidden_.

Yet, Wendy still trembled, and she still felt her blood race. And when he pulled away, she still relived the moment, running over every nook, every cranny.

Edward smiled gently.

Wendy felt her heart crack slightly. Nothing too bad.

She needed to get out of here.

Wendy pushed past Edward and ran across the bridge. "Wendy, wait! I'm sorry!" Edward called after her. But she kept running.

Just a small crack. So why was she running?

Because, the sensible part (or the part she used to deem sensible) reasoned, it meant she was moving on from Peter. And she couldn't do that.

Could she?

Wendy stopped, breathing hard. She blinked, coming to terms with her location. She wasn't even in the park anymore. She was standing in the shadows of a decrepit old building, in the poorer part of town. In the street, peddlers were selling their wares and children ran around, causing trouble. She watched as an older boy silently stole an apple for a smaller girl, who squealed in delight. The boy bowed, and for a second, he faced Wendy's direction. Her heart stopped. It couldn't be -

"Gotcha!" A voice suddenly shouted from behind her, and rough hands grabbed her arms.

"Check her pockets!" A second voice snickered.

"Let go of me!" She shouted, almost fainting from the mixture of Edward's kiss and the boy who looked liked Peter and the sudden attack. "Let go! Help! He -" And then a cloth was shoved underneath her nose. It was soaked and smelled funny, and Wendy began to lose consciousness.

"Ow!" The voice of the first man suddenly yelped, and the arms dropped her. She fell to the sidewalk, panting. She heard the sounds of rocks flying, swearing, and then two heavy sets of boots running away. Wendy wasted no time. She pulled herself up and ran, ignoring everything.

The shouts behind her.

Her shaking body.

The hoarse, familiar voice that called out her name.

All ignored.


	8. Sixteen For Peter

No.

Peter stared at his clenched hands, and struggled not to yell out in frustration. It couldn't be. He couldn't have.

And yet, every time he thought a happy thought (which was always something that was in the past) and jumped off the crate in the alley, he dropped to the ground like a stone.

Like a grown-up.

Peter leaned down and put his hands on his knees, suddenly exhausted. The past year had been hard. The worst year of his life, he reckoned. For one, Tink was gone. It was the first time he could remember being without his faithful fairy. Now that he thought about it, he supposed she was a bit _too_ faithful. He smiled a little at that. Little, love struck Tinker Bell.

Peter sighed, his smile fading away fast. Surviving without Tink was harder than he'd ever imagined. There was no more Tinker Bell to stealthily creep onto a cart selling food and drag away warm turkey. No more Tinker Bell to warn him when a crazed dog started to run his way. No more Tinker Bell to cheerfully assure him they'd find Wendy. No more Tinker Bell.

He'd had to learn how to survive, and learn how to survive fast. He became an expert at stealing food. He sharpened his senses beyond what they'd ever been on Neverland. He still searched every night for Wendy, ignoring the shakiness in his flight or the continual disappointment that surged in his throat. Peter firmly believed that unhappy thoughts made you grow up, and tried to squelch negativity as soon as it arose.

But it looked like all his attempts to stay young were in vain. Peter noticed a nearby puddle, and stared at his reflection, trying to make sense of it. Since when had he become tall? Since when had his face become so hard and straight, all of his baby fat lost?

Since when did his reflection become someone else?

"Peter!" shrieked a voice, jolting him out of his terror. Peter looked up to see Flora, one of the street kids, running towards him. Peter was still Peter, no matter how old he got, and his bravery, cunningness, and charm had made him into the stuff of legends to the poor kids that spent most of their time scavenging for food in the street. Sort of like the Lost Boys, Peter often thought wryly to himself, except their stories were much more pathetic.

Flora was a classic exception of a street kid. She was eleven or twelve - her drunken father couldn't be bothered to be certain - and her whole figure screamed starvation. Her bony arms and legs were always tense, and her sharp eyes were always darting around, searching for food. Now, she ran up to Peter, grinning a smile too wide for her narrow face. "Peter! Jensen's chasing after Will and Mutt, and he left his food cart unguarded. C'mon!" She tugged on his hand and pulled him to the edge of the alley.

Peter peeked out cautiously. Flora was right. He could hear Mr. Jensen swearing in the distance. Probably at Will and Mutt - Mr. Jensen hated the sarcastic fifteen-year old and his dog almost as much as he hated Peter. His food cart, stocked full of fresh food, lay casually in the street, just waiting to be stolen from.

Silently, Peter crept forward (the police in this part of town were especially harsh, especially to children) to the food cart. His hand shot out and snagged an apple. He paused for a second, making sure no one had seen him, then Peter smiled in victory and handed it to Flora with a flourish. She squealed and giggled.

Peter's grin widened. She reminded him of some of the girls he'd visited over the years (which, of course, reminded him of Wendy). He bowed formally to Flora, and that was when his eyes fell upon a slender girl of about sixteen standing in the shadows.

Their eyes met.

Peter took a step backwards in shock, gasping. It was _her_. After all these years -

"Gotcha!" A voice yelled out, and the Wendy-girl screamed as a man grabbed her. It was Harry, an escaped criminal who spent his time attacking rich passerbyers, stealing their money, and 'just plain being terr'ble' (according to Flora; the one time Peter had caught him in the act, he'd tried to stop Harry and gotten a bloody nose for his efforts).

"Check her pockets!" A scrawny man laughed nervously. Ricky, Harry's accomplice, appeared next to Harry and the Wendy-girl.

"Grab some rocks and come with me!" Peter hissed suddenly to Flora, an idea springing into mind. Motioning her to follow, he led her to the building next to the men and the possible Wendy. Peter knew there was a ladder leading up the side of the building, and if they could get onto the roof, it would probably save Wendy's life.

In a matter of seconds, they had scrambled onto the roof. Peter hurried to the side of the building and glanced down at them. Wendy was screaming for help. Harry simply shoved a dripping cloth under her nose, and Peter watched in horror as she started to go limp. It was probably drugged.

Flora dumped the rocks next to him. In a flash, Peter grabbed several and began hurling them down at Harry and Ricky, being very careful with his aim - hitting Wendy wouldn't help anything.

"Ow!" Harry snarled. He dropped Wendy, and she fell to the pavement, gasping for breath. Peter just kept throwing the rocks. Flora, next to him, was screaming all the swears she knew down at the two men, who were cursing right back at her.

"You cursed rats!" Harry yelled. "C'mon, Ricky, let's get outta here. She ain't worth it."

"But Harry!" Ricky complained as he ran after Harry. Peter grinned.

"We did it!" Flora cried in delight. "We bloody did it!"

"Good job, Flor-" Peter started to hi-five her, but stopped when he noticed Wendy. She was gone, running in the direction of the park. Peter started to crawl down the side of the building, desperate. He can't have found her just for her to run off again. "Wendy! Wendy, wait, Wendy!"

He fell to the pavement when he had a foot to go, and he scraped his knee badly. Peter didn't even care as he pulled himself up. "Wendy! Wendy -" she disappeared from sight. Peter swallowed.

"Who's that, Peter?" Will, who had just arrived a few minutes ago, asked. "You're girlfriend?"

"No," Peter muttered. Then he ran back to the alley.

Normally, Peter didn't let his disappointment get to him, but as long as he was grown-up, it didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore.


	9. Seventeen For Wendy

When the Swanson's door opened, Wendy stumbled forward, right into Edward. He knew why.

"Oh, Wendy," he whispered, wrapping his arms around her. That was all, but that was enough. Wendy began to sob.

Her mother was dead. Her _mother_ was _dead_. The words fitted roughly together, like puzzle pieces forced to fit. It wasn't possible.

And yet, her gray, grief-stricken family was proof enough that Mary Louise Darling had indeed died. Her father was stunned into silence, muttering "Mollie" over and over again as he wandered around the halls at night. Her brothers, for once, were no longer ashamed to burst into tears at intervals during the day. All except for Michael. He refused to cry. And the baby -

Edward gently pulled her into the house and led her to a chair, where Wendy collapsed, still making horrible, wailing sounds. A part of her that was detached from all the rest noted that she was making a fool of herself. Then the rest of her shunned that part for being so shallow, and then she was crying even harder.

"Edward?" A voice said. Wendy vaguely recognized it as Lorraine, the nurse. "What in the world -"

"Lorraine!" Edward murmured. He left Wendy's side for a moment, and she heard him whispering to Lorraine, obviously trying to keep her from hearing. He wasn't quiet enough. "That fire at the Houseman Lane Library last week killed Mrs. Darling from next door and blinded Michael." Wendy listened to her own tragedy, and was once again stunned by the horror of it. She went quiet.

"Oh," Lorraine breathed. "Oh, dear Lord, Mrs. Darling!" Wendy nodded unconsciously, crying silently now. "I'm going... I'll… oh, excuse me, Edward, I'm going to make tea." She heard the woman bustle out of the room. She heard Lorraine start weeping.

Edward sat down on a seat near Wendy's. He was quiet for a moment, then he said, "Wendy -"

The front door was suddenly flung open, and Edward's nine year old sister Harriet ran into the house. She stopped short when she saw Wendy. Then she reached into her pocket, and pulled out a brown bag.

"Wendy," she said hesitantly. "We - we were making chocolate in school today, and I made a piece for you." She placed the bag on Wendy's lap. "Happy seventeenth birthday."

Wendy, despite her sorrow, found herself managing a tiny smile. She nodded at Harriet, still unable to speak. Harriet smiled back and softly left the room.

Wendy pulled out the chocolate. It was a piece shaped like a star, with little white chocolate squiggles covering it. Inside, it was filled with mint and strawberry and several other flavors which Wendy couldn't identify. But it was delicious.

"Mother loves chocolate," Wendy said softly. She realized a second later that she should be using past tense. The thought burned her eyes.

"Wendy, I'm so sorry," Edward said.

"Why are you sorry?" Wendy asked. "You didn't… I mean…. it's not your fault she's gone." The police suspected the blame went to a few street urchins who were trying to stay warm. Even though it was tempting, she kept herself from blaming them. Her mother wouldn't.

"She was a wonderful person," Edward said. Wendy nodded, watching him. Her heart was, like the library, was burning. It seemed like a dream that just a week ago, Edward and her were innocently in love. She fully knew that Edward intended on marrying her, and she fully knew she would say yes.

Except… now, she wasn't sure she could. She had to take care of her father, who was too shell-shocked from her mother's death to even remember to eat. She had to help stunned, blind Michael, who now refused to speak to anyone but Wendy.

And then, there was the baby, born just a month before her mother died. Wendy's little sister, Jane Sara Christine Darling. Mr. Darling didn't even want to look at the baby. His wife had died making sure Jane survived, and therefore, he had nearly thrown the child out of the house. Wendy, and the human nurse, Geneva, had quickly calmed him down, but they now were very careful to keep Jane away from him.

Jane was Wendy's responsibility now, and Wendy knew it. She would take care of her like she was Jane's mother.

The only thing is, Wendy now felt like a grown-up.

Wendy glanced at Edward again, and saw him watching her with heartfelt concern. She almost started crying again, and almost became angry at her mother. How could she have left Wendy to deal with this?

Once again, Wendy found herself longing to be thirteen again, longing to escape to somewhere where time froze, and words said became undone.

She wanted Neverland.

Or, more specifically, the Never boy.

Where was Peter?


	10. Seventeen For Peter

Peter was dying.

He didn't know it for sure, but his bones were too tired to walk. His eyes were too tired to see. His skin was too tired to shudder with cold. This had to be what death felt like.

It was the coldest winter on record in England, and that was what the _rich_ people were saying. For Peter, it felt like the coldest winter in the world.

The blizzard raged outside of the alley. Peter huddled against the wall, the thin, torn blanket on his shoulders worthless in the rage of the storm. He had hoped that, by taking shelter in the alley between a bookstore and a hospital, he'd be sheltered from the snow. At first, he'd been right. But snow was being pushed into the alley, and Peter knew he didn't have much more time before he'd have to move.

If he _could_ move.

Peter found himself longing for a year ago, a very unfamiliar wish. At least then, he hadn't been a murderer.

Peter groaned, and put his head between his knees. The word swirled around his mind, lodging itself firmly into the recesses of his brain. _Murderer_, it screamed at him. _Worthless street rat_. _Murderer_.

He'd thought, by giving the two children he'd bumped into on the street his last box of matches, he was doing something good. Noble even. He could always steal another box. Peter had felt proud as the two poor children - a boy and a girl - ran into the library, eager to show their mother the precious prize.

Ten minutes later, people started screaming.

Peter had run back to the library, and was horrified at the flaming tongues scorching the clear sky, roasting the clouds, and burning the people. He'd watched as a twelve-year old boy staggered out holding a baby and clutching at his eyes before sinking onto the pavement. Peter had thought the boy looked familiar, but had started running before he could check.

People began talking about the casualties that very day.

A woman had died, apparently, and her son was blinded. Two men were in serious condition at Great Ormond Street Hospital.

It was his fault.

Peter wiped roughly at his face in the alley, to prevent the water in his eyes from freezing. Everything was his fault. He realized that now. Tink dying, Hook nearly killing them all, the fire - he was to blame.

"Are you okay?"

Peter glanced to his left. A girl about his age was also shivering in the alley, a few feet away. Peter hadn't even noticed her. Her blacked hair was cropped short, and her dark brown eyes were worried. She was also vaguely familiar.

"I - no," Peter admitted.

She smiled wryly - the only kind of smile Peter seemed to see. "I thought so." She paused, studying him. "What's your name?"

"Peter Pan," Peter answered automatically, then flinched. He'd learned over the years that telling strangers your last name only spelled trouble.

Peter expected the girl to smile again, at his obvious stupidity. Instead, her eyes went wide, and she froze. "Peter… _Pan_?" she repeated slowly.

"Yeah… is something wrong?" Peter asked, starting to panic. Perhaps the police knew his name and were looking for him, to throw him in jail for the fire. His heart sped up.

The girl blinked. "I… I know you. Or, I think I know you. I know this sounds crazy, but I… I had a dream about a boy named Peter Pan when I was fifteen, and I remember it so vividly. He came into my room, and he flew… I told him to go away. He was my age then, and there was a fairy, but…." She trailed off, and shook her head.

"What's your name?" Peter asked, wondering if it could be true.

"Julie," she said.

Peter remembered Julie. The girl he saw while searching for Wendy, the one who'd stared at him for a full minutes and refused to talk to him. Yes, he remembered Julie.

Peter smiled - even in the midst of the freezing death, Peter's smile was still intact. "Julie," he said, "If I tell you something, will you promise to believe me?"

Julie hesitated, and Peter saw fear swim in her eyes, until it was replaced with a steady curiosity.

"Yes."


	11. Five Years Too Old

Every person had one moment that defines the rest of their life.

Wendy's moment was when Peter asked her about the ending of Cinderella, and she got stuck staring into his eyes.

Peter's moment was torn between the first time he saw Neverland, and when Wendy gave him her hidden kiss.

That is, until Wendy's eighteenth birthday, when both moments were changed forever.

xxxXXXXxxx

Wendy sighed, rocking Jane to sleep in her arms. Although it was Wendy's eighteenth birthday, it had been almost completely uneventful. Father, like always, had been too tired and sick to even notice her, and all of her brothers were away at boarding school - except for Michael, who _had_ wished her a happy birthday. He was the only one to do so, besides Edward.

Wendy, still cradling Jane in her arms, glanced at the ring on her finger. The ring which had only been there for a few hours, but had belonged there forever. The engagement ring. She felt a thrill every time she glanced at it. She had a fiancé. She was soon going to be a married woman. Unfortunately, the only person she'd been able to express her excitement to was Michael, and he hadn't been very excited at all. And Wendy knew why.

Marriage meant she'd be leaving.

xxxXXXxxx

"Is that it, Peter?"

"This must be it," Peter replied, looking up from the map to the comfortable home in front of him. Julie had taught him to read since they'd met a year ago, and with that knowledge, he'd been able to use the phonebook, and he'd been able to find Wendy.

Peter took a deep breath, staring at the result of four years of searching. This moment wasn't exactly as he'd pictured it. For one, he'd expected to be younger, and flying. He also hadn't expected Julie to be here.

And he hadn't thought he'd be so confused. In his daydream, Peter had slipped into Wendy's room without hesitation. In the daydream, Wendy knew him in an instant, and wrapped her arms around him, and then they'd kissed again (Peter knew enough now to know that thimbles are really called kisses). The dream hadn't gone any farther than that, but it had been enough to satisfy Peter.

Peter glanced at Julie. Her hair had grown out to her shoulders, and she didn't look starving anymore. She was… well, she was beautiful, and Peter in his heart knew he was falling in love with her.

Peter wasn't stupid, though. He knew when he was young, he'd been in love with Wendy. And he still was in love with her - or rather, her thirteen year old self. And they'd said good-bye to each other years ago, but… she still haunted him. If he could just confirm she still remembered him, then maybe he'd be able to move on.

Julie, seeing his expression, smiled softly. "I'll be waiting by the cab." She touched his arm gently and left the cone of light cast by the streetlight they'd been standing under.

Peter watched her leave, then turned his attention to the house. In a large bay window, he could see a woman - more like a girl his age. His breath caught. She was holding a baby.

xxxXXXXxxx

Wendy glanced out onto the street, still holding Jane, who refused to sleep. There was a young man standing under the streetlight.

She frowned. He was staring, it seemed, right at her. And he was so familiar.

The man shook his head and started to walk away.

Perhaps it was a stray piece of fairy dust, still clinging to Wendy after all these years. Or it was the way he stared at her. It could've been that he reminded her of someone she'd fallen in love with when she was only a child.

But it was most likely Wendy's heart, telling her what she already knew.

Wendy, without putting Jane down, flew down the stairs, through the parlor, and out the door. She ran towards the direction the young man was walking, and as she ran, without knowing she was going to, she yelled, "Peter! Peter, come back! Don't you remember me?"

xxxXXXxxx

"Don't you remember me?"

Peter stopped, the wind knocked of him. His heart hammering in his chest, he turned around slowly. The girl he'd seen in the window was standing in the cone of light, still holding the baby.

It truly was her.

xxxXXXxxxx

The young man entered the light, and Wendy could see, her breath still coming in fast, that it was Peter. She smiled a breathless smile as he neared her.

"Wendy," he said softly, too stunned to react.

"Hello, Peter," she breathed excitedly, trembling. "Hello." Then she noticed his height.

Peter watched as Wendy's smile faded away as she took him in. He felt a pang in his heart, longing for years before.

"Peter…" Wendy whispered, unable to take her eyes away from his shaggy, unkept hair, the sharp angles in his face. She took in how thin he was, and how tall he was - a few inches above her. "You… grew up."

"Yes," he said. "I have been in England since I was around fourteen, I suppose."

"But why?"

"I wanted to make sure you wouldn't forget me," Peter explained. He realized how childish that sounded, and although a part of him was happy about this, most of him was embarrassed and upset. He cleared his throat. "And I guess I grew up, and once you grow up you can't fly."

Wendy was shocked. "Oh, Peter," she whispered. "I wouldn't forget. Ever."

Peter nodded, and smiled a smile that made Wendy's heart jump, although she tried to stop it. _You can't fall in love with him, not again! _

Peter was thinking the exact same thing.


	12. What Edward Saw

For a long moment, the boy and girl - who were both at the awkward phase where they're unsure if they're a boy or man, a girl or woman - were silent, lost in their thoughts.

All the words Wendy had imagined she'd say to Peter if they ever saw each other again, words like_ love_ and _belonging_, were stuck in her throat. Peter, looking over this beautiful and unfamiliar girl in front of him, remembered his purpose, and felt too confused to continue.

Eventually, Peter asked, a bit stiffly, "How is your family?"

Wendy hesitated, unsure of what to say. "I - uh, well… the boys are all at boarding school, except for Michael… because he's too young." Wendy felt an strong urge to protect Peter's innocence. He might look like a man, but he still must have the heart of a young boy. "It's just been me and him, Father, and my sister - oh, and Mother."

"Your sister?" Peter thought hard, but he couldn't remember a sister coming to Neverland with Wendy.

"Yes, Jane," Wendy said, glancing at the baby in her arms, who, despite Wendy's frenzied dash to catch up with Peter, was quiet.

"Oh," Peter said, relief flushing his face. "I thought - I mean, I assumed -"

"Peter, I am _much_ too young to have _real_ children of my own," Wendy said sternly, but with a twinkle in her eye.

Peter grinned. "The street kids used to make-believe families, just like we used to, but they did since they really didn't have families of their own - or, if they did, it wasn't ideal. I was always the grandfather."

"Street kids?" Wendy asked, confused.

Peter shifted his weight, uncomfortable. "Well, yeah. You didn't expect me to be living with the Queen of England, did you?"

Wendy stared at him, horror-struck. She should have noticed, from his messy hair and torn clothes. "Oh, Peter, I'm so sorry -"

"For what? It's not your fault," Peter said, shrugging. Wendy shook her head. _It is my fault, that you're here in England at all. _Then she thought of something.

"Why didn't you follow the directions in my letter?" she demanded.

"What letter?" Peter demanded right back.

"The one I left for you in the nursery window, with directions to get here."

"There wasn't no letter there when me and Tink -" Peter froze, and then, slowly, his mind thought back to the day in the park. _There was an envelope for you, _Tink had said. "Oh, no," he whispered. Then he swore.

Peter swearing was the oddest thing Wendy had ever heard, and it made Wendy's entire body throb. "Peter, what is it?" Glancing at the air around his shoulders, she added with a wavering voice, "Where's Tinker Bell?"

Peter looked up and shook his head. "Tink died, trying to get that letter." He kicked the sidewalk. "This is all my fault!"

Wendy nearly threw up. _His_ fault? _His_ fault that _her_ letter led Tink to her death? "Don't say that!" she gasped. "Oh, Tinker Bell…"

Peter took a deep breath, trying to control himself. "I miss her," he murmured. "I mean… Wendy, I don't think I like England at all. Tink's not here, no one cares about anyone, and… I'm a murderer."

The last part was softer than the rest, but it sent Wendy's already spinning head into a whirl. "What… did you kill someone?"

"It's my fault that a woman was killed in a fire, and a boy was blinded," Peter said softly. "I gave two kids some matches, because I thought they were cold… and then they accidentally lit this library on fire and -" Peter stopped and stared harder at Wendy. Tears were starting to silently slid down her face. She was smiling shakily.

"Peter… that woman was my mother. And the boy was Michael."

The only time Peter had heard more painful words was when Hook took away his will to live. Peter staggered with shock. "I killed… your _mother_…"

Wordlessly, Wendy wrapped her free arm around Peter, in a sign of forgiveness. How could she blame Peter, who spent years in poverty looking for her?

Peter hugged her back, trying not to cry.

This was the moment that would be etched in their minds for the rest of their lives. So much had happened, and here the burned threads were silently tying back themselves.

They didn't know it, but it would make a beautiful blanket.

When Wendy pulled back, she asked softly, "What will you do now?"

"I'm going to live with Mr. James Barrie," Peter said, uncertain for the hundredth time about the plan. "He's Julie's uncle, and he offered to give us a place to live."

"Julie?"

"She's a friend." Peter's face was burning. "She's teaching me to read."

"Ah." Wendy hid her ring under Jane.

This is the part where many like to silently pray for the words to say _And Wendy, who knew she loved Peter more than she would ever love Edward, went with him. And they lived happily ever after._

Who decides when the ever ends? No one can be alive that long to determine it as true.

As much as we all try to deny it, Wendy and Peter had grown up. And in that, they had moved on. What they had was more then friendship, that is true, but what they had with the other person in their lives - Wendy's fiance who was watching this exchange quietly from his window, and Peter's friend and partner in crime who was waiting patiently for him by the cab - was also more than friendship. And it was also more than Wendy and Peter. And they both knew it.

Peter smiled hesitantly. "Well, good-bye, Wendy."

"Good-bye, Peter," Wendy replied, smiling a wet smile back at him. They each turned back towards their homes, to their lives, their futures.

But before either had gone very far, Wendy remembered something. She once again ran quicker than she ever had before to Peter, who had only gone about ten feet, into the darkness outside of the light. She crashed into his back, nearly sending herself, Peter, and the miraculously quiet Jane to the sidewalk.

"Peter," she gasped breathlessly, "What did Hook say to you to make you fall?"

Peter knew exactly what she was talking about. His green eyes searched her own blue ones. "He said you'd close the window in the nursery."

Wendy felt her heart break. "Do you still have this kiss I gave you?" Peter grinned wryly, and pulled from his pocket a rusty old thimble. Wendy smiled, and touched her own acorn necklace. "Good. Keep that, to prove that what Hook said wasn't true. And…" she hesitated, for a moment, knowning more than she wanted to. "And keep this." Wendy gently touched Peter's face, and once again, softly kissed him.

Kisses hold so many messages. In this one, Peter, who was suddenly aware and yet unaware of everything, picked up swirling flavors like memories and a bittersweet good-bye and love.

Peter was no longer afraid of love.

The kiss was there, and then it was simply sitting peacefully in the corner of each of their mouths. Wendy smiled, her eyes shining with tears.

It was the best and worst good-bye they'd ever had to face.

As Wendy turned and walked away, Peter watched her go. And as he did, he suddenly realized that he wasn't touching the sidewalk. Glancing at his feet, he saw that he was a few inches up into the air. Flying, from relief, that his worst fears that were never a reality. And a kiss.

Peter smiled to himself, and shook his head. Oh, Wendy.

He then turned and floated back to the cab, to where Julie was waiting to drive to James Barrie's home. Mr. Barrie had plenty of questions about the strange boy Julie had described to him over the phone.

Peter was sure it would make a wonderful story.


	13. Happily Ever After

Wendy Swanson stood patiently outside of Franklin's Books, waiting for the store to open. Mr. Franklin was in there now - she could see him moving around inside - and he should be open in a few minutes. He always opened at precisely ten o'clock. "And not a second earlier," he told Wendy sternly when she was just a young girl. Even after all these years, he hadn't changed.

"How long, exactly, does it take to dust off a lot of books?" Jane Darling complained from next to Wendy. Wendy smiled at her sister. At thirteen, Jane could have their mother's reflection, except that her green eyes were sharply rebellious and her dark brown hair came down in ringlets. Wendy and Edward, her husband, had adopted Jane when she was two, taking her out of the hands of Wendy's ailing father. He'd gotten better after a few years, but had agreed to let Jane stay with her sister, admitting that Wendy would be much better suited to raising a child - something he never would have done if Mrs. Darling had been alive.

"He'll open in a few minutes," Wendy said calmly.

Jane glanced around. There were lots of others milling about, but none were waiting by the bookstore. "We have to be the first to get it. Why didn't you just let Mr. Barrie mail you a copy?"

Wendy shook her head. "That would have ruined the experience, Jane. Besides, this is right near where I used to live." She pointed out a street labeled Kensington Street. "Number fourteen Kensington Street. My home's the second one on the right."

"Oh, can we visit the people who live there afterwards?" Jane asked. "Oh, please?"

"I promised Edward I'd be back at eleven - he has an event at the school he needs to attend." Edward had taken a job as a math teacher at the junior school.

"Wendy! How will I ever be able to picture the story right if I can't see the Window?" Jane protested. The Window was a legend in the Swanson household, almost as much as Peter Pan himself. Wendy had told Jane and her four-year-old twins, Belle and George, the story of Peter Pan countless times, and one of Jane's favorite parts was when Peter entered through the Window. Wendy had tried to describe the Window and its magic to the children, but she never quite succeeded.

"Oh, all right, I suppose. But we'll be quick about it, and don't you dare pull any tricks, Jane - oh, here comes Mr. Franklin!"

Old, wrinkled Mr. Franklin slowly opened the door to the bookstore. He squinted at Jane and Wendy. "Why, I say, Mrs. Darling, you are looking quite young - almost childish."

"That's my sister, Mr. Franklin," Wendy explained. "Not my mother -"

"Do you have the book?" Jane interrupted eagerly, her eyes sparkling.

Mr. Franklin squinted harder at her. "What book?"

"_Peter and Wendy_! Mr. Barrie said it was to arrive today - oh, you must have it, Mr. Franklin, please!" Wendy put a gentle hand on Jane's delicate shoulder. Jane shook it off.

"Oh, yes!" Mr. Franklin explained. He always knew what he was talking about when it came to books. "It's in the back - I haven't got a chance to put it on the shelf yet." He led them into the bookstore.

Wendy took a deep breath, smelling the dust and pages. Nothing had changed in here. She could have been thirteen again, a young, bright-eyed child, with hopes and dreams wider than the sky.

Mr. Franklin ducked behind his desk, and, with a grunt, lifted a large box onto the counter. Slowly, he pulled the flaps of the box open. Wendy could see a collection of dark blue books, each with the words _Peter and Wendy_ written in gold letters on the cover.

Wendy picked up a book delicately, almost afraid. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest like war and her hands were trembling ever so slightly. Carefully, she opened it up;

_Certainly he did not want a change, but he looked at her uncomfortably, blinking, you know, like one not sure whether he was awake or asleep_

_ "Peter, what is it?"_

_ "I was just thinking," he said, a little scared. "It is only make-believe, isn't it, that I am their father?"_

_ "Oh, yes," Wendy said primly._

_ "You see," he continued apologetically, "it would make me seem so old to be their real father."_

_ "But they are ours, Peter, yours and mine."_

_ "But not really, Wendy?" he asked anxiously._

_ "Not if you don't wish it," she replied; and she distinctly heard his sigh of relief. "Peter," she asked, trying to speak firmly, "what are your exact feelings for me?"_

_ "Those of a devoted son, Wendy."_

_ "I thought so," she said, and went and sat by herself at the extreme end of the room._

It wasn't exactly what happened, but it was enough. Mr. Barrie, when had come to ask Wendy about her side of the story several years ago after hearing it from Peter, warned her that he might change some things. He was going to write a play, he said, and he wanted it to sell well. She said she hadn't minded, but, on opening night of the play, she didn't go. It wasn't anything to do with Mr. Barrie - it was just the fact that, if she went to see it, there would be other people, strangers, saying her words, repeating her actions. There would be someone else as Peter. And she couldn't stand that.

"We'll take it," she told Mr. Franklin.

"Is it any good, Wendy?" Jane asked. "Is it like -?"

"Say, what a coincidence," Mr. Franklin noted suddenly. "The girl's name is Wendy, just like yours, Mrs. Wendy."

Wendy smiled serenely at him. "Yes, it is a coincidence." She winked at Jane, who giggled.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, the two stood in front of fourteen Kensington Street. Wendy smiled to herself. The house looked just like it had when she and her brothers had lived there.

"Which one is it, Wendy?" Jane asked, her eyes scanning the house.

"It's not in the front, Jane. It faced around to the back. We'll have to ask the owners." Wendy did not like this idea. To see someone else living in the house might be too much. But to see the Window -

Wendy squared her shoulders, marched up to the front door, and rang the bell. The door was answered by an annoyed-looking maid. "Yes?"

"I would like to speak to the owners of this home," she said firmly. Jane nodded, jutting out her chin defiantly despite the fact there was nothing to defy quite yet.

The maid raised her eyebrows. "The master's out," she said. "But the mistress is here. If you could just wait in the parlor, I'll go let her know."

The maid led Wendy and Jane in. Instantly, Wendy was overcome with memories. She stood still, taking it in. The furniture had changed, but it was undoubtedly the same room.

Jane was also quiet, but for different reasons, "So," she whispered. "This is where I might've lived, if you hadn't gone to Neverland, and Mother hadn't died."

Wendy faced Jane and smiled shakily. "Yes."

"May I help you?" Wendy turned around to see a short, slight woman with dark hair and confused brown eyes standing in the doorway, cradling a baby in her arms.

"Yes… I'm Wendy Swanson. I used to live here, when I was a child, and I would like to show my sister my old room," Wendy said, a little awkwardly. "

The woman, who had been watching them with thoughtful eyes, gave an almost inaudible gasp of surprise when she heard Wendy's name. She stared at Wendy, her mouth hanging slightly hanging open, before regaining her composure and nodding. "All right, I suppose."

Wendy smiled gratefully, a little unnerved by the woman's reaction. "This way, Jane." She led Jane up the stairs, the woman following. Into this door -

Wendy stood breathlessly in her nursery. "Oh," she said softly, smiling. The room was obviously being used as a nursery. There was one bed and a crib, and toys were scattered everywhere. Wendy could almost see her old bed, their swords and things, and the scattered articles of costumes she and her brothers had used during story-time.

Jane ran to the window, with the lacy curtains - they were still the same ones, as the Darlings had forgotten to bring them when they had moved - blowing back in the gentle breeze. "Oh, was this it, then?"

"That's the Window." Wendy nodded and walked towards it, touching the Window's frame.

The woman was standing in the doorway, and she was smiling knowingly at them. "You must have wonderful memories in here."

"Yes, I did -"

"Mama, I can't find Father anywhere, and I need help with the kite! " A boy, about Jane's age, said, stepping into the room, a multicolored kite in his fist.

Wendy gasped.

Suddenly, she was young again, and staring into the eyes of a boy who would soon bring her to the world where youth lived on, where she would fall in love, where she would save his life after he nearly died because of her.

The boy had dark brown tangled hair, and his face was devoid of a freckle or two, but he had the same cocky nose, the same mouth. And the same Neverland brand of eyes.

"He went to the train station to pick up Uncle James, William - say, are you all right?" This last part was directed at Wendy, who was staring at William wide-eyed.

William suddenly noticed Wendy and Jane. "Who's that?" He asked, almost rudely. Bold and charming. Like his father. Jane narrowed her eyes.

"William Timothy Pan, you be polite," the woman scolded. The baby suddenly opened its eyes, seemed to catch sight of its brother, and started wailing. Its mother smiled apologetically at Wendy. "I have to take care of the children - the nurse is sick, I'm afraid. Can you see yourselves out?"

"Of course," Jane answered for Wendy, who was still quite shocked.

"Thank you," the woman said, then to the baby, "It's all right, Gwenie, don't fret, shh…" The sounds faded away as the family proceeded downstairs.

"Wendy… his last name was Pan," whispered Jane. "Do you think – oh, could it really be _him_ – you know, _Peter_?"

"Yes, I do suppose that," Wendy said slowly. She shook her head carefully. "Come, Jane, let's go home."

"But don't you want to stay and wait until Peter gets back?" Jane protested.

Wendy smiled, like a swiftly moving brook, and shook her head. "I suppose, when his wife tells him of this story, he'll know it was me. That's enough."

"But Wendy -"

"Jane, I really think it's best if we went," Wendy said firmly, though she was far from certain. If she could just see him -

No. The word came from deep inside of Wendy, and she understood. She wasn't the same thirteen year old girl who was enchanted by a flying, cocky boy. Nor was she the same eighteen year old young woman who cried herself to sleep after saying good-bye to an old friend - more than a friend. Her name had changed to prove it.

She had moved on, and she had grown up. And although Peter, no matter what, would live safely in her heart until the day she died, Wendy had other loves, other hopes, other dreams.

"Let's go home," she told Jane resolutely. So, the sisters left from the second house on the right, and went back to their home, where Jane would act out the story of Peter Pan once again. And, when Peter arrived back at the former house of his first love and his wife, Julie, informed him about the incident, he arrived at the same conclusion that Wendy had.

They had moved on, and they had grown up, but they had not forgotten.

Somewhere, above at all, a star ever so slightly brighter than the rest of them sparkled.


End file.
